Hourglass
by Chrys-Moony-Marauder
Summary: Roxanne Weasley finds out just how many secrets the castle can hide the day she discovers the hourglass. And when tragedy strikes, Roxanne and the gang discover just how deadly a weapon time can be if it falls into the wrong hands.
1. Prologue

**Title:** Hourglass

**Rating:** K+

**Genre:** Sci-fi/Adventure

**Main Characters:** Roxanne Weasley, Fred Weasley (I and II), Molly Weasley II, Lorcan Scamander, Lysander Scamander, Albus Potter, George Weasley

**Summary:** Roxanne Weasley finds out just how many secrets the castle can hide the day she discovers the hourglass. And when tragedy strikes, Roxanne and the gang discover just how deadly a weapon time can be if it falls into the wrong hands.

**A/N:** This is a time travel fic, essentially, that kind of follows my plotline from Kiss From a Rose, although it's not really a sequel. The story follows canon for the most part, including the information we were given after the series. A good chunk of the story takes place during Order of the Phoenix. And lastly, if anyone would like to beta, that would be awesome.

**Disclaimer:** All rights to the Harry Potter series belong to J.K. Rowling, whom I am not, unfortunately. All names, locations and other properties recognizable from Potter belong to her too.

**Prologue**

Gregory Goyle was jerked awake by a loud, resounding series of clunks. It took him a moment to get his bearings before he realized what it was that had woken him. It was coming from the front door, though it was astounding that someone would knock with enough force for him to hear it from his bedroom, and in the depths of sleep. He slipped on a housecoat and slid his feet into a pair of shoes beside his bed and stalked out to the door.

There was a fresh round of loud banging before he swung the door open grumpily. He was slightly taken aback when his eyes landed on the dark silhouette in his doorway. There was a moment of shocked silence. Then—

"I didn't expect you to drop by, considering that I haven't seen you for about ten years," Goyle said slowly. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Good to see you too, Goyle," came the grunt of a reply. A man draped in a dark, heavy cloak shoved his way into the house. He invited himself into the drawing room and took a seat, removing his cloak and the bulky, dragon hide boots on his feet. "What have you got to drink?" he asked, shoving a cigar into his mouth.

Goyle grimaced at this blatant lack of manners. A plain, petulant-looking woman came to the doorway, wearing a dressing gown over her pajamas. Her beady eyes rolled over the man reclining on their sofa, his stocking feet on her coffee table, and widened.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"The antipathy is simply heartwarming," he replied with a comfortable grin. "You two always were so very hospitable."

Goyle gave him a nasty look before turning to the woman. "Get our visitor a drink, Pansy."

She gave the visitor an equally dirty look before turning on her heels and disappearing from the room to obey her husband.

"So what are you really doing here?" said Goyle. He leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. "What do you want?"

"Have a seat, Goyle," said the visitor, still smiling.

Goyle grunted. There was a game being played here, but he would have to play along if he wanted his house intruder-free. He trudged over to the sofa and sat as far away from his unwelcome visitor as possible.

Meanwhile, his guest looked perfectly at ease. He slipped his hands into his pockets, the slick grin never leaving his face. "So, Goyle, how have the last ten years been?"

Goyle clenched his jaw to stop himself asking yet again why he was here. "Fine," he grunted.

"I see you've been busy," he observed, indicating the portraits on the wall. "Who's in the picture?"

Goyle had barely looked around before he crumpled to the floor, unconscious. The visitor chuckled quietly to himself. Silently, he tiptoed out of the room after Pansy. He stunned her as she was walking down the hall; the bottle of wine and cocktail glasses she'd been holding shattered. He stepped over her and made his way down the wide hall of the manor.

"Now, now, Goyle," muttered the visitor thoughtfully. "Where do you keep your treasure?"

The visitor walked briskly down to the south wing of the gargantuan house, down in the dank and musty chamber that led to the cellar. He pressed a palm flat against the cold stone wall, dragging it slowly along as he walked, a contemplative expression on his face. Suddenly, he stopped.

"I always was one to take notes, Goyle," he murmured breathlessly, a sinister grin on his lips. He leveled his wand at the wall, muttering a series of words under his breath. In wave of brilliant green light, a section of the wall exploded beneath his fingertips, creating a hollow large enough for him to stand in.

At every place he touched, a shelf materialized and projected forward out of the stone. The visitor made his way through the jumble, pocketing a gold necklace here, a silver kettle there. His time was running out: by the time he got out and made his way back up to the foyer, the Goyles would be coming round, this time better prepared for an attack. A vehement groan of frustration escaped him, and he sent a whole row of ornaments crashing to the floor. He was desperate—why else would he have come? And time, as usual, was not on his side.

He was just stepping out to continue his search farther down the wing when he noticed it sitting there, innocuous and camouflaged among the little ornaments.

He reached out a shadowed hand and picked up the little glittering hourglass. He watched the grains of sand, sparkling like crystals, flow from the top of the hourglass to the bottom, a smile spreading on his face. It wasn't the treasure he'd come for, it was true, but it would more than suffice.

* * *

"That was one incredible pass, Angelina," said Eleanor "Robbie" Robinson, a fellow Chaser on Puddlemere United. Her head emerged from the top of a violently pink T-shirt, her jet black hair forming a disheveled halo around the crown of her skull, and she reached over to slap palms with her teammate.

"Well, I'd have to say that was one incredible catch, Robbie," Angelina replied, beaming. She was lying casually across the locker room bench, keeping her title of the fastest dressed. There was grace in her haphazard position, making the accidental casualness of it look almost intentionally refined.

Everyone on the team was in high spirits after a brilliantly orchestrated practice. Everything had fallen into place, including the warm, breezy weather and the seamless healing of their Seeker's broken arm. They felt like conquerors, just waiting for the poor team that was bold enough to challenge them to a match. But their good humor and general feelings of camaraderie were best bestowed elsewhere today, because the last match of the season wasn't for another month, at least.

"Are we doing dinner tonight?" Robbie asked, now dragging a wet comb through her wayward locks. "I'm all for Italian."

"We should go early, then. I'm probably heading home for the weekend, since school starts in a couple weeks. This is around the time when tension in the house reaches an all-time high, and I'd prefer that the house still be standing when I get back."

"That bad, huh? We'll stay in, then. I'll cook you a farewell dinner."

"It'll only be a few days." She yawned widely, and her head flopped back down onto her outstretched arms. "Aren't you done yet?"

"Yes, yes, I'm done." Robbie deposited her brush in the big rucksack she stored her things in and swung it over her shoulder. She gestured towards the door, and Angelina rolled off the bench to follow her.

Robbie opened the door and screamed.

"What is it?" Angelina said quickly, seizing her by the arm.

Robbie jerked her arm out of Angelina's grasp and stamped her foot in irritation. "Shit, Wood, what the hell are you doing bloody standing outside the door?"

"Hello, Robinson," said Oliver, unfazed by this hostile greeting. "Actually, I was waiting for Angelina. Is she still in there?"

"I'm here," she said, peering around Robbie. She waved. "What's up?"

"I know you're probably heading back to your flat now," Oliver said. "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind walking with me."

"Oh, no problem," Angelina said. "Robbie and I were just leaving, so if you wanted to tag along…"

"No, actually, I was hoping it could just be you and me," he said casually, clearly unaffected by the look of outrage taking shape on Robbie's face.

"Oh… all right, then." She gave Robbie an apologetic glance. "At least now dinner will be a surprise, right?" she said, half gauging whether or not Robbie was offended enough to have changed her mind about making the dinner.

"Yeah," she said, though she shook her head a little. "I'll see you at home, then." She pushed past Oliver and walked down the path.

Angelina pulled a duffel bag onto her shoulder and followed Oliver away from the locker rooms. They walked back out across the stadium, and Angelina recognized that they were taking the longer path to the apartment complex where most of the team lived during the season. Both of them remained silent until they emerged from the exit opposite the door they'd left through after practice.

"How are you?" he inquired, his narrowed gaze focused on the street ahead of them.

"Fine," she said mechanically. But she was just fine, and it was a lovely day in late summer for the long, leisurely stroll they were about to embark on.

"You were brilliant today," he observed.

Angelina beamed. "That's high praise, coming from you. I'll take it. You weren't too shabby yourself. Well, you may have flubbed that last save a little… Kidding! No, I thought today went pretty well. And I managed to go a whole day without getting yelled at."

"Oh, come on. You know you only get yelled at all the time 'cause you're Coach's favorite."

"Today must have been an off-day, then. Oh, how's Ryan's arm?"

"He's completely patched up now. It was taken care of in minutes. I think he's even off to his trainer now, lifting weights. I do think Beldum and Carr could have been more attentive though, and this whole thing could have been avoided. But for what it's worth…"

"They've saved your neck on more than one occasion," Angelina supplied for him. "Don't worry about them, they're usually on point. They'll do their job…"

"…And I'll do mine." He looked at her sideways, half-smirking. "You certainly have a way of putting me back in my place."

"And don't you forget it."

"Yes ma'am," he teased, saluting her. "How long do you think Robinson will stay mad at me this time? A year? Two years?"

"You know as well as I do that she's not actually angry with you. She just…"

"Hates me."

"Yes, maybe. It's nothing personal."

"I know it's not. She thinks I'm stealing you away. Which I have done, just now."

"Hmm," Angelina said thoughtfully. "I do keep forgetting that you're not quite as stupid as you look." The corners of her mouth twitched playfully, but she was able to maintain her cool expression. "Yes, I do think she believes that. Speaking of which, may I ask why you've stolen me?"

"I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Really?" was her sarcastic response. "I thought you wanted to be alone with me so that we could pick daisies. What's on your mind?"

There was a long hesitation.

"Oliver, what's up?" Angelina asked with a frown, suddenly sensing that whatever this was, it was serious.

"Remember when we stayed in the stadium after the last match, just the two of us? They'd turned all the lights off, and we were just using our wands to see. I kept thinking I heard something, rustling in the brush, and it was hours after everyone had gone. I thought maybe I was imagining it, but after you figured out how to get the locker room back open, I went to get you, and I swear I saw the tail of a cloak slithering into the shadows."

"Okay, so you're having nighttime paranoia… go on…"

He thought for a moment. "Remember how you said you weren't getting George's letters?"

"Yes," she said slowly, narrowing her eyes. She didn't see where he was going with any of this. "Sorry, I'm not following."

"Angelina… I think you're being followed."

Angelina stopped. She looked up at Oliver, a mix of surprise and skepticism on her face. "Why would someone be following me?" she asked.

"I don't know," Oliver admitted, "but something's not right. I know someone else was there that night, and why else do you keep having post problems?"

"I don't know, maybe our owl's just gone barmy and can't find his way anymore. And anyone could have been there that night, Oliver. For all we know, Coach could have been there late, working on new plays."

"In the dark?"

"I don't know! But it's certainly not time to start panicking yet. I appreciate your concern, though."

"I knew this was what your reaction would be," he said, sounding resigned. "But I've thought really hard about this. Just… just watch your back, okay?"

Angelina smiled and punched him playfully on the arm. "Okay, Dad. Consider my back watched."


	2. Chapter One: Discovery

**A/N: **Sorry about the ridiculous wait. It just goes to show, if you bug me enough, I'll get my butt in gear. Thanks for reading, guys! Little recap: Goyle receives a mysterious visitor who discovers an unusual treasure in the cellar; Angelina receives a warning that someone may be following her.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the rights to Harry Potter, not little old me. Props where props are due.

**Chapter One: Discovery**

"So there it is, then. Two more have gone missing." The bed creaked and there was the light slap of a rolled up _Prophet_ landing on top of the blankets. She could imagine his emerald eyes darkening with solemnity as he shared this news with his companions.

"That's the second time this month! What do you think they'll do now?" A new high, earnest voice trembled with alarm.

"I dunno… No one does…"

"Who do you think it is?" came a deeper, more familiar voice. The sharp brown eyes that accompanied it were probably locked on his dark-eyed mate, contemplating, calculating.

"I don't know… it's got to be an outsider," said the tall boy with the dark eyes. All eyes would naturally be drawn to him; somehow, he was the unspoken, unofficial leader of this little meeting. And it was clear even from his tone of voice that he accepted the role unabashedly. "With inside help, maybe. And if anyone was helping, I'd put my money on that Flint kid."

"Yeah, I always thought the little bloke was weird…"

"He's scary," agreed the syrupy high-pitched voice. "He's probably kidnapping everyone and locking them up somewhere in the dungeons…."

"It's not just here. People are going missing all over, I was reading it in the _Prophet_. What's your dad have to say about all of this, James?"

"He reckons whoever's doing it fancies himself the next up-and-coming Dark Lord or something." She could practically hear him toss the hair out of his eyes as he relished having all the knowledge. "And the hardest thing about it all is that the people who disappear are just _gone_, without a trace. People are scared to talk, scared that if they know too much, they might just be next."

"He told you all this?" asked the deep voice.

"No, of course he didn't. Obviously I used the old Extendables… I love it when he forgets to put the Imperturbable Charm on the door…"

Roxanne pulled the same long, flesh-colored strings from the door, rolled them up, and pocketed them. She'd heard enough to confirm some of her suspicions. She'd been lying flat on the hard stone floor for the better part of an hour, with the last of the merchandise from her father's shop that her mother hadn't been able to find and confiscate before she'd left. But it had been worth it. She stood, her knees cracking and aching, and wobbled up a couple more flights of stairs.

She tapped lightly on the wooden door at the top of the staircase. "Lorc?" she whispered.

The door creaked open slightly, and a boy with pale blond hair and wide blue eyes reached out to draw her quickly inside and close the door. Four of the beds in the dormitory were empty – surely the boys were all enjoying the last few minutes before curfew – and on the bed closest to the window sat a girl with a short bob of red hair, her pale arms and legs crossed as she looked up expectantly.

"Well?" asked Molly. "Find out anything?"

"Yes," said Roxanne breathlessly. "They think it's Flint too. They said he probably has a secret place somewhere in the dungeons where he keeps all the missing people. It makes so much sense. I was reading in the History of Magic textbook that Hogwarts actually has a secret Slytherin chamber, and Flint would be just the freak to be able to use it. You know what this means. It means we've got to go down there and look for it ourselves."

"Let's do it after Charms tomorrow," Molly suggested.

"No," Roxanne said. "We have to do it now."

"But it's curfew!"

"That's why we have to do it now. We can't have Flint roaming around when we're trying to find the secret hiding place. If he finds out what we're up to, we'll be next. It's now or never."

"Who was in there?" asked Lorcan, speaking for the first time.

"The usual," Roxanne replied. "Jessica Longbottom, Fred, James—"

"Was Albus in there?"

"I was getting there—but yes. Can you get into his stuff, d'you think?"

He motioned for the girls to follow him out of the dormitory. The three students crept silently down a flight of stairs – a floor above where Roxanne had been spying earlier. Lorcan twisted the handle on the door of the fifth-year dormitory, but it did not open.

"_Alohomora!_" he whispered. The door stayed shut. He gestured again to the girls; in unison, they did an about-face and tiptoed back up to the dormitory on the top floor. "We'll need to get through the window," he said once the door was closed again.

"How're we going to do that?" Roxanne demanded.

"You, of course. It shouldn't be a problem—your broom is amazing, so there won't be any noise to worry about as long as you're careful. You'd better go now, before they all come up to bed."

"Meet me in the common room," Roxanne said, disappearing from the room.

Her bed was the first one in the third-year dormitory. It was the unmade one, the curtains on the four-poster hanging slightly askew. It didn't take much work to spot the open trunk at the foot of her bed, its contents spilling out onto the surrounding floor. She kicked it hastily aside, revealing a shiny silver racing broom, the latest in the coveted Zoom Silver series. She'd received it as a surprise for her birthday this summer, though since, she'd endured many threats from her parents about taking it back whenever she misbehaved.

She threw the broom over her shoulder and contemplated her window. Then she hoisted herself agilely onto the sill, pausing to survey the scene on the ground and the surrounding windows. All was still. She continued forward, scrambling out onto the ledge, and pulled herself up onto the battlement. Again, she paused, perched on the ledge, checking once more for signs of life.

Then, Roxanne leapt forward into the night, tumbling swiftly through the darkness. She swung the broom up between her legs, and she landed hard on the cushioned seat. Immediately, she steered herself upwards out of a perfect dive. The wind whipped through her auburn curls as she made a sharp right turn, mindful of which windows she was breezing past. Her broom, as Lorcan had pointed out, was top-of-the-line, and as long as she flew fast enough, no one would even see her go by.

Finally, she reached the window of the fifth year boys' dormitory and peered inside. It was very familiar, both because her brother lived here and because she and Lorcan snuck in here so often to nick Albus's Invisibility Cloak. She reached out to tap her wand against the glass of the window, but it did not open. It was locked.

Well, there was that plan shot down.

But now that she was already out and full of adrenaline, Roxanne had to do _something_ to make herself useful. She didn't stop to think about what she was going to do; she pointed the nose of the broom down and dove low towards the ground. She dismounted the broom, landing softly in the grass, and climbed through the staircase window. Now that she was alone in the dimly lit castle, it dawned on her what a stupid idea it was to go wandering alone at night in light of the recent disappearances. She winced as she imagined what her parents, or even her brother might say if they could know where she was right now. But Roxanne was never one to turn around and walk away out of fear. In true Gryffindor spirit, she made her way down to the dungeons.

Her footsteps echoed in the dark stone corridor as she pushed forward. Slightly apprehensive, she lit her wand tip with a quiet "_Lumos!_" and held it out in front of her. It cast an eerie light on the stone walls, but it was just enough so that she wouldn't trip. Her ears strained to pick up any sound, maybe the sound of screaming, tapping, anything. She turned the corner, utterly unprepared for the considerably larger figure that reached out and grabbed her as she walked right into its arms.

"Gotcha."

Roxanne screamed loudly and turned to run, but the man's rough, hairy arms closed around her body and pulled her back. A calloused hand smacked across her mouth, silencing her.

"Shut up screaming, you filthy little girl," growled a familiar voice. "What're you doing, wandering around in the dungeons past curfew anyway? It'll be detention for you, girlie."

Relief flooded Roxanne's body. It was just Filch, the old caretaker. She would be in plenty of trouble, sure, but she wasn't kidnapped. She wouldn't be another one of the unfortunate "missing," another statistic that might make front page news tomorrow. In the midst of her relief however, she didn't fail to notice the sick note of pleasure in Filch's crackly, withered voice.

He dragged her painfully by the arm up to his office, where he wrote her up with relish.

"Name?" he asked with a nauseating grin.

"Weasley," she muttered, taking a seat. She knew she'd probably be here for a while, if Filch had his way.

"_Another_ one? You filthy little brats are taking over this school. Which one are _you_?"

She was quite used to this response, though maybe not phrased quite so bluntly. "Roxanne."

"Roxanne Weasley… Roxanne _Weasley_… _Roxanne_ Weasley…"

"YES?" Roxanne blurted out, irritated by this abuse of her name.

Filch looked up, his dirty grin widening. "Out past curfew, nasty attitude… let's see if the Headmaster can't sort you out."

"The headmaster!" Roxanne shouted in alarm. "It was only a curfew violation, what d'you need the bloody headmaster for?"

"INSUBORDINATION!" yelled Filch, knocking his desk over completely in his anger.

Roxanne drew back, terrified, as all of the desk drawers came crashing down, emptying onto the floor. For a moment, it seemed like Filch murdering her was a distinct possibility. Her survival instinct told her to be very still.

"Clean this up!" Filch barked, turning on his heels and striding towards the office door. "I'll be back with the headmaster."

Roxanne soaked in a couple seconds of silence, pondering the full scope of what she had done. She was in loads of trouble. She could kiss both her brand new Zoom Silver and her spot on the Quidditch team goodbye, because when her mother found out about this… there wasn't a Howler in the world that was loud enough.

Why couldn't she have minded her own business? Or at least kept her mouth shut…

Grudgingly, she went about setting the desk upright. If there was a spell for it, she couldn't remember what it was. So she'd received quite a few bruises and scratches, as well as dropped it on her foot several times by the time it was standing again.

And then there was that awful mess on the floor. She swept up what looked like ten years worth of write-ups and detention assignments and stuffed them into the top drawer. There was an old Kwikspell catalogue that had be at least twenty years old. And then there were piles of items from her father's shop that Filch must have confiscated. She handled these with care; you never knew quite what they did.

In her effort to avoid an ink squirting from an exploding quill, she knocked something aside that went rolling into the corner. She cleaned up everything else before going to retrieve it, as squatting on the floor had cramped her legs up. After a stretch, she scanned the room to see where whatever it was had gone.

It didn't look like anything from her father's shop. She picked it up from the floor and examined it. It was some kind of necklace. A glittering, crystalline hourglass hung from a long golden chain. It felt warm and tingly in her fingers, and it was emitting a soft golden glow.

Why had this been confiscated? It didn't look dangerous at all. What could be so harmful about a necklace? She turned it in her hands, looking for some kind of mark—anything that could make it less innocuous. But there was nothing that she could see. She watched, transfixed, as the little white grains of sand slid back and forth, unable to stop turning the little thing in her hands.

She somehow lost track of time, sitting there in the glow of the hourglass, turning it slowly, this way and that. Then suddenly, her reason overcame her, and she shuddered as though awakening from a trance.

"I should put this away," she told herself firmly, out loud. She reached for the desk, which was a little farther than she remembered leaving it. As she opened the drawer, she also realized that it was considerably darker than she remembered. Had the torches burned out? No, that couldn't be right. She could still see. There was a dull pinkish glow in the room. Where was that _coming _from?

As she turned around to look for the source of the strange light, she gasped. The light was coming from the _window_. It was dusk outside. She glanced down at her watch, panicked. According to her watch, it was 9:43 p.m. That's what time she'd thought it was, but how could it be dusk at a quarter to ten?

Suddenly dizzy, she put her hand down on the desk and the loud sound of the hourglass hitting the desk startled her. Roxanne looked down at it, suddenly suspicious. It was no longer glowing, laying majestically still beneath her trembling hand. Perhaps its trick was to change the time of day?

Just then, she heard voices: It sounded like Filch was coming back. Roxanne cursed. When Filch came into his office and saw that it was now sunset, he would know she had been playing with the hourglass and she would be in even more trouble. Instinctively, she shoved the hourglass into her pocket and dove beneath the desk, knowing that her hiding place would be painfully obvious.

She saw his pointed boots enter the room again and waited for him to stop, confused maybe, about the change in lighting. Or, at the very least, for him to wonder where she'd gotten off to. But he didn't. He seemed, in a stroke of luck, to have found new targets.

"Have you two IDIOTS any idea how much trouble you've caused?"

"An inkling, yeah," came the reply from one of Filch's new victims.

Filch's anger seemed to boil over; Roxanne saw his legs shaking from beneath the desk. She entertained herself for a moment, imagining steam pouring from his ears. "You—" he spluttered, "You two—" He just couldn't seem to get out whatever he was trying to say. "Just wait until I get the Headmaster. You Weasleys have caused me trouble for the _last time_."

Weasleys? Roxanne wondered as Filch stomped out again. Who else had been out wandering around past curfew? Her brother seemed the only plausible answer, unless Molly had come looking for her. She inched out from beneath the desk to get a peek, but stopped when she heard voices.

"Ah, well, we'll get 'em next time," one of the students said. He sounded almost like her brother, but there was something different enough about that voice that she was convinced it wasn't him.

"George… George, what is that?"

George? Roxanne thought. The only George Weasley she knew was her father. But…

"Seems to be some sort of collection of 'highly dangerous' objects… See what's in it, Fred."

Roxanne nearly banged her head against the desk as she wriggled out a little farther to see just what in the name of Merlin was going on here. And there, standing above her, just as strange as she had feared it would be, was her teenage father… and his mirror image. Gaping with disbelief, she pulled the little hourglass back out from her pocket and examined it once more. It must be some sort of time device. She was in the past, centimeters away from her father, who was no older than she was now, and her legendary Uncle Fred, as they thumbed through the exact same drawer that had landed her in this situation.

"There's weird stuff in here, doesn't seem to be any…" There was a pause. "Wait, what is this?"

"Bit of parchment, looks like. Scrap paper?"

"In a drawer labeled 'Confiscated and Highly Dangerous? Doubtful. Must be some kind of magic… maybe something written in invisible ink? Let's see if we can't… _Revelio!_"

"You can't honestly have believed that would work. Really, what kind of rubbish wouldn't stand up to a simple Revealing Charm?"

"It was worth a try. Let's see…"

Roxanne watched in wonder as they turned the parchment and tapped it with their wands, trying various different spells on it. How had the hourglass transported her to this exact moment? She was still having a hard time even believing what she was seeing.

"Shh!" said one of the twins suddenly. "Sounds like Filch is coming back."

Sure enough, the unmistakable loud clunk of Filch's hideous boots could be heard echoing through the hall. The twins exchanged a look.

"Have you got any Dungbombs on you?"

"Just the one."

"When he comes back, you set it off—"

"And you hide the parchment."

"Ready?"

"One—"

"Two—"

"You little scoundrels are lucky the Headmaster is not in his office right now—"

"THREE!"

There was an earth-shattering explosion and a horrible stench permeated the air. Roxanne took advantage of the confusion to roll out from under the desk and follow her father and uncle out of the room. She turned down the corridor and ran all the way up the staircase to Gryffindor Tower. As she ran, she turned the hourglass repeatedly the way she had before everything had changed. She skidded to a halt outside the portrait that obscured the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, hoping she had done it right. Everything looked exactly the same. She stared at the portrait, attempting to decipher whether it was the present-day Fat Lady or the old one.

"Enigma?" she said cautiously.

The portrait swung open.

"Where have you been?" Molly exclaimed as Roxanne climbed through the portrait hole. "We thought you'd gotten caught."

"I did get caught," Roxanne said, collapsing into a chair. "But I got away. Thanks to this." She held out the little hourglass for Molly and Lorcan to see.

"What is it?" asked Molly, awed.

"It's a Time-Turner, of course," replied Lorcan.

"You know about it?" Roxanne asked, taken aback.

"Of course. I'm pretty sure they're illegal, though, Roxanne, they're dangerous in the wrong hands."

"Well, Filch just had it lying around in his drawer where anybody could get it. I'd better keep it. I'll keep it safe so no one will be able to mess with it."

"You've been in Filch's drawer? Roxanne, you had better be careful."

"I am being careful. I won't tell anyone else about the Time-Turner, and Filch will probably never know it was missing. I only used it by accident. I won't use it again."

"_You used it_?" Lorcan and Molly whispered in unison.

"Yeah, by accident. I went back in time and saw my father and my uncle Fred."

There was stunned silence. Then,

"You saw Uncle Fred?" asked Molly. "How'd you know it was him?"

"Oh, good call, it might have been someone else called Fred who looked _exactly_ like my dad," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "They must have been the same age as us, or a little younger. And they took something from Filch's cabinet, too."

"What did they take?" The note of skepticism in Molly's voice was not lost on Roxanne.

"I dunno, I couldn't really see. It looked like a bit of parchment."

"A bit of parchment?" repeated Lorcan, looking equally dubious.

"Yeah," Roxanne said firmly.

"Er… Roxanne…" Molly said, looking uncomfortable.

"You don't believe me," she said astutely.

"Well," she said slowly, "it's just that… the past is a long time, Roxanne. What are the odds that you would have used the, er, Time-Turner, for the first time and just happened to have seen your father? It's just a bit… unlikely, you have to admit."

"Well, yes, I thought about that. But I _know _it happened. I was there. I know what I saw. Here, I can show you—"

"Maybe that's not such a good idea," Lorcan said solemnly. "You don't know what kind of trouble that thing can cause, and you don't even know how to work it properly."

Roxanne opened her mouth to argue, closed it, and shrugged. "Okay."

"Maybe… maybe you should ask your dad about what happened," Molly suggested.

"No, because then he would know about the Time-Turner, and I'm not telling him that." She looked down once again at the little hourglass before finally pocketing it again. "I'll just keep it. I can keep it safe—safer than that buffoon Filch can, anyway. I'm going to bed. Night all."


	3. Chapter Two: Post

**A/N: Sorry about this being so poorly written. Sometimes when you have a big plan, the finer details prove difficult. :)**

Disclaimer: All elements of the Potterverse, including characters, objects and locations identifiable in the Harry Potter series, are property of one J.K. Rowling. I just play with them.

**Chapter Two: Post**

Something seemed very different in the house, Roxanne noticed. And she didn't think it had much to do with the people who were going missing. It was more as though there was something strained in her parents' relationship, and it had been this way ever since she and Fred had come back home for winter break. She'd asked Fred if he thought they were going to get a divorce, but he had dismissed this immediately. Whatever was going on, he'd explained, it was to do with their mother.

And upon further observation, Roxanne realized this was true. Her mother seemed very tired and a bit testy lately, and it was this that was making her father equally irritable. It didn't bode well for family relations, so she chose to make herself as remote as possible, observing this unfolding crisis at a distance; it would inevitably end in an argument. Her suspicions were confirmed one morning at breakfast.

"Get the post please, Roxanne," Angelina told her.

"Dammit," she muttered, realizing the mistake she had made in finishing her plate first. It was a testament of the times that she wasn't chastised for her bad language.

She slid out of her chair and went out into the sitting room to open the window. Several soggy, ruffled-looking owls flapped their way inside, their amber eyes hostile.

"Sorry," Roxanne said quietly. "I didn't know it was raining."

The owls flapped their wings, splattering her and the furniture with icy water. A little grumpily, she collected the letters and sent the dripping owls back out the window. Quickly checking to make sure no one was there to incriminate her, she cast a drying spell on herself, the furniture, and the letters before trudging back into the dining room.

She dropped the large pile of letters in front of her father and plopped back down in her seat.

"This one's for you, Angelina," George said, tossing the scroll of parchment across the table.

Angelina managed to catch it before it landed on top of her eggs and unrolled it. Roxanne watched her face carefully as she read the letter. She looked troubled.

"What's up, Mum?" Roxanne asked.

George looked up too.

"Nothing," Angelina said, stowing the letter away. She quickly turned back to the plate of food in front of her.

"Who was the letter from?"

Angelina took a bite of her toast. "Spam," she said evenly.

"But Mum, it had your name on," insisted Roxanne.

Angelina gave her a sharp silencing stare. "It was an advert. Who else do you think it's from? I'll go throw it out."

"Wait," George said, as Angelina began getting up. She looked at him, and they stared at each other for a long time, doing the silent communication thing they sometimes did. She cleared her throat softly and left the room, and George followed her.

Fred and Roxanne exchanged glances of their own, a less subtle version of their parents' form of communication, and followed them out. They had gone into the drawing room, and the door wasn't quite shut. Fred motioned for Roxanne to scope out the situation, since she was smaller and less noticeable. She peered through the crack. She could see them, but they were whispering.

"Do you have any Extendables?" she mouthed to Fred. He held up his empty hands and joined her by the door. They would have to eavesdrop the old-fashioned way.

"…don't know why you're making a fuss about this, George… It's not as if…" Strain her ears as she might, Roxanne could not pick up those last words.

"But if you keep getting these letters… Who are they coming from?"

"No one."

"But they're not adverts."

"What would you know? Look, I'm not—" Roxanne couldn't hear the next words—"Stop obsessing."

"I'm not obsessing, I just want to know what the hell is going on. Let me see the letter."

"It's not as if it's some sort of—" She was whispering again—"I don't know what you think's going to happen. I was up late last night, alright? So don't pester me right now, it's too early." She pulled out the letter and dropped it into the fireplace.

"GO!" Roxanne hissed urgently to Fred, and the two of them started to scramble away from the door before it was yanked open.

"Grounded, both of you," Angelina said as she passed, looking tired and grumpy. "Go wash the dishes from breakfast."

They trudged back to the kitchen to wash the dishes under George's supervision as he read the _Daily Prophet_ at the table.

"Daddy," Roxanne said carefully as she rinsed the plate Fred had finished washing.

He grunted in reply, an indication that he wasn't in the best of moods either, but she decided to press forward anyway.

"Who do you think is sending Mum those letters?"

Fred elbowed her hard in the ribs, almost making her drop the plate. No doubt he would call her all kinds of names later for daring to ask, but her curiosity overpowered her desire to stay out of trouble.

"I think that if you were to mind your studies as much as your mother's business, you would have done much better on your exams. Stay out of this, both of you. It doesn't involve either one of you."

"But you want to know what's going on, too."

Fred elbowed her again, and this time, she did drop the plate. It shattered on the floor. George flicked his wand at it without looking up from the paper, and the plate repaired itself and soared back into Roxanne's hands.

"I told you to stay out of it, Roxanne," George repeated rather sharply.

She finally backed down: She knew she'd gone too far when her father got short with her. Fred gave her an "I told you so" glare, and she ignored him. One thing was certain: Fred was right. Something strange was going on with their mother, and whatever it was, George was not in on it either. She put the matter to the back of her mind. This was going to be a very tense holiday.

x

Cheers and song rang through the halls of Grimmauld Place. Garland and icicles decorated the walls, the portraits, and the banisters on the stairs. Wreaths of every color and bunches of mistletoe hung on every door, and the aroma of Christmas pudding filled the air. The only people who were not in the infectious spirit of good cheer were George and Angelina.

They had been sitting on the sofa for the better part of an hour. George had sensed that she was preoccupied, and despite her moodiness he decided to stay with her rather than join in the celebrations.

"Don't be so ridiculous," she had chastised him when he'd first joined her on the sofa. But he knew she appreciated it anyway, because when he put an arm around her, she leaned into him. He kissed her softly on the forehead, and his fingers played with the ends of her hair as he stared absentmindedly into the distance.

Roxanne watched them sit alone in the midst of the crowd and felt her own mood inevitably sink. They weren't getting a divorce at least, she was convinced. But what exactly was going on? It was Christmas Eve, and they were silent and morose.

"Is everything okay, you two?" asked Ginny as she and Harry sat down near the somber pair.

Roxanne looked up.

"Roxanne, are you even listening to me?" said Lily impatiently. "Roxanne!"

"Shh!" Roxanne whispered. She moved closer to eavesdrop.

"Harry, could I have a word?" George asked. Angelina looked at him, puzzled.

"Sure," Harry said, looking equally puzzled. The two of them stood and walked over to a quiet corner of the room; Roxanne followed. She was able to squeeze herself into the hollow beneath the stairs. It was painful and cramped, but she didn't think she would be seen. At any rate, she had a great view of her father's preoccupied face and her uncle's inquisitive one.

"What's up, George?" Harry asked quietly.

"Angelina's been receiving, er—some very strange letters," George said. "She was acting strangely, so I went through her mail and found these." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of the same types of rolled up parchment that Roxanne had seen that morning at breakfast.

Harry took the letters and unrolled them one by one, scanning them quickly. When he'd finished, he too looked troubled and a bit bewildered. "Can you think of anyone who might have sent them?" he asked, unrolling the letters to study them more carefully.

"I've been thinking, and I really don't know," he said. "It sounds as if they're from someone we went to school with, but that was ages ago. I couldn't begin to think who might've held a grudge this long."

"Yeah," Harry said, frowning. "Have you asked her what she thinks?"

George hesitated. "No. She doesn't know I know about any of this."

"Well, George, I think you're going to have to talk to her," Harry said. George grimaced. "I know, I know. But this is serious, especially considering what's going on, with all the people going missing. We can't afford to take chances."

"You're trying to get me killed, aren't you?" George said with a grin.

Harry smiled and looked over at Ginny, who was now chatting to Angelina. "Trust me, I know what you're dealing with. But find out what you can, and let me know what you find out. The kids don't suspect anything, do they?"

"Of course they do. Angelina made the mistake of letting Roxanne get the mail, and she's been digging around ever since."

"Where is she?" asked Harry suddenly.

Roxanne snuggled herself further into the hollow, willing herself to become invisible.

"Dunno. She was with Lily, last I saw." He shot a sudden, suspicious glance around him. Roxanne crossed her fingers. "Anyway, I'd better figure out a way to get Angelina in a good enough mood to break it to her that I've been looking through her mail."

"Good luck," Harry said with a smirk. He patted George on the arm. "Keep me updated."

As Harry walked away, George made for the stairs. Roxanne tried to make herself as small as humanly possible, but there wasn't much else she could do. He passed her and she heard his footsteps above her as he went up the stairs. She breathed a sigh of relief when the footsteps stopped. She looked around cautiously before rolling out from beneath the stairs, shaking the dust out of her hair.

"Hello," said a voice in her ear.

Roxanne started and spun around to find herself looking into her father's eyes. He was sitting on the stairs, nearly eye-level with her.

"Hi," she said nervously. She hesitated. "So, erm…"

"Yes, I saw you under there," he said, answering her unasked question.

"Er—" She studied his face carefully. "Are you angry?"

George studied her appraisingly. "I'll tell you what. Since it's Christmas, I'll make a deal with you. I won't be upset with you this time… but no more spying, okay?"

"It wasn't spying," said Roxanne defiantly.

George gave her a stern look. "Do we have a deal?"

She nodded.

"Good. And not a word to your mother about anything you heard." He rubbed her shoulder affectionately. "Now go enjoy the rest of the evening."

"Er—Dad, can I ask you… er, something?"

It was very clear that he knew exactly what this "something" was, from the tone of her voice and the guilty look on her face, but he indulged her anyway. "Yes?"

"Er—what exactly do the letters say?"

George's face darkened considerably. "Roxanne, listen to me. _This does not concern you._ I don't want you getting tangled up in this. I'm letting you off tonight, but if I find you sneaking around again, I won't be this forgiving."

He looked uncharacteristically stern, but she could also tell that he was very anxious. Whatever was in those letters was something that worried him a great deal—and something that could make her father look that concerned had to be bad news indeed. She felt a real regret for being so dishonest and eavesdropping on his conversations.

"Okay," she said solemnly. "Dad—I'm sorry."

He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. She caught a bit of an urgency in it, and that further worried her.

"It's Christmas," he said, finally letting her go. "Go enjoy yourself, and just forget about everything you heard, alright?"

Roxanne bit her lip, looking, in her expression, uncannily like her mother. "Okay."

He gave her a gentle smile, and her sense of shame deepened. "Happy Christmas, Dad," she said quietly, and she quickly walked away to find Lily again.

Her cousin had moved into the kitchen, where she was rattling on to a very bored-looking Molly about which presents she expected to get. Molly looked up when Roxanne approached them, looking very relieved.

"Where have you been?" Molly asked.

"Nowhere," she said nonchalantly, sliding into a nearby chair.

"Please, you went to spy on my dad and Uncle George," Lily said, rolling her eyes. "What'd you find out, then?"

"Not much," she said, still feeling guilty for disappointing her father.

She was saved the necessity of elaborating when Teddy Lupin strolled into the room to fix himself a plate from the leftover supper.

"Hello, girls," he said, settling down at the table with a loaf of bread. "What are you ladies up to?"

"Nothing," they said.

"Not up to anything?" he said with a smirk, now buttering the slice he'd cut. "I know _you've _been up to something, Roxanne."

"Me? Why?"

"Number one, because of that guilty look on your face. Number two, even if I'm the only one that's noticed, you're just as sneaky as your brother. What is it this time?"

"I resent that," Roxanne said crossly. "Where've _you_ been? I thought you were staying up in Nottingham with Victoire."

"Well, I was, but I decided there's no place like home. The whole family's here, after all." He stuffed a wad of bread into his mouth. "So how's the haul looking this year?"

"Excellent," Lily said, using this as an excuse to dive into another one of her long-winded descriptions of her wish list.

Roxanne tuned her out completely for a second time, thinking instead about her mother and what kind of trouble she might be in. She wished she could read the letters herself, but she felt bad after what had happened earlier. She made a silent promise that she wouldn't do anymore sneaking around.

However, she was put to the test on her promise soon afterwards—and failed miserably. It wasn't _really_ her fault, she told herself. Her attention had been aroused when she'd heard yelling coming from the next room. She pressed her ear against the cold wall to hear what was going on, and drew back, alarmed. She'd never heard her mother scream that way at her father, and thus, couldn't resist the allure of a pair of Extendable Ears. She'd swiped them from where she hid them beneath the mattress and sat next to the wall.

"What the hell do you think you're playing at, looking through _my_ things?" she was now yelling.

"What are _you _playing at, keeping this all secret?" he yelled back, startling Roxanne. He rarely yelled at anyone, least of all Angelina. "Don't you think I deserve to know?"

"It isn't any of your business, George. It has nothing to do with you."

"For Merlin's sake, Angie, it has everything to do with me. If someone's going around sending you things like this—" She heard the quiet rustle of a piece of paper, which she assumed was one of the letters. "This whole week I've been practically going spare—"

"That's exactly why I didn't tell you. I knew you'd overreact—"

"Overreact? To _this_?"

"I can take care of myself, you know. D'you think I'm some sort of damsel in distress that you need to rescue?"

"No, you're my wife, the love of my life, and the woman I would give everything I have to protect. I don't like this, Angelina, I don't. And I think you should be taking this a bit more seriously."

"Don't you tell me I'm not taking this seriously! What do you want me to do? I don't know who's sending them, so just what the bloody hell am I supposed to be doing? I just—I'm just—I…"

There was a long silence. Roxanne shook her Extendables, fearing momentarily that they weren't working correctly.

"You should sit down," came George's voice gently.

"So what now?"

"I say we go. We'll leave for a while, maybe rent a house in the country. We'll tell Harry everything, and he'll be able to scope out the situation. But we don't have to worry about any of that now. You should sleep."

Roxanne heard the rustle of blankets and assumed that the conversation was over for the night. She still had no idea what was going on, and what she had just heard gave her very few clues as to what was happening. Whatever was happening, it was enough that they had to run away from it. And that was a scary thought indeed.

It took less than fifteen minutes for Fred to come down to her room. One glance told her that he had heard everything she had. He sat himself down at her desk as they shared a moment of heavy silence.

"So… do we start packing now or wait until they tell us tomorrow?"

x

"Basically, we're in solitary confinement," Roxanne explained to Molly. "No one can ever visit us except for Uncle Percy and Uncle Harry, and we're barely ever allowed to leave. We can't even receive the post—which I suppose was part of the reason we moved. I'm dying here. I can't wait for the break to be over."

"Have your parents made up, at least?"

"Yeah, they've been pretty calm since all these new protections have been put in place. I'm still not really sure why any of this is necessary, though. It's really very annoying of them to simply uproot us and move us to a whole new location without any sort of explanation for it."

"Yeah, it is a little strange. My dad is definitely in on it, though, but he hasn't mentioned it at all, so I don't know."

"Have you heard from Lorcan at all?"

"A bit, sure. I think he's fairly busy, though, so it was just a quick note. I'm not sure if he's written to you or not, because I haven't told him that you're not getting any post."

"Speaking of post, have any more people gone missing?"

"No, actually. No one's gone missing in the last week or two. The kidnapper must either be tired out or planning something really huge. Say, do you think that might be why your family moved? Maybe your parents were worried about the disappearances."

"Maybe, but it was something else, too. My mother was getting suspicious letters. None of the people that have gone missing were receiving letters, and if my dad's been talking to Uncle Harry he'd know that."

"Yes, I suppose… Well, at least you were able to come and visit today. You've no idea what a nightmare it's been, stuck in the house with Lucy. She's driving me mad about the stupid O.W.L.s, wants me to keep testing her. I've been dropping in on the Potters, but you know how Lily gets." Molly rolled her eyes. "She won't stop going on about how Marshall Davies is _madly_ in love with her."

"You like Marshall Davies," Roxanne pointed out.

"What?" Molly yelped. "I never said that!"

"But you do, don't you?" She grinned. "You do!"

"That's not the point," Molly huffed, now beet red. "Anyway… well… er…"

At that point, the door swung open after a sharp rap, probably saving Molly from considerable embarrassment. Fred poked his head in, nodding politely to Molly.

"It's time to go, Roxanne," he said. "Dad's waiting downstairs." Then he disappeared.

It had been too good to last, Roxanne thought. For the day, she had been allowed to spend time with Molly and Fred had spent the day at the Potters', undoubtedly up to no good with James and Albus, while their father was at work. But now that he had closed up the shop for the day, he had come to take them back to their cottage prison.

"I guess it's goodbye then," she said regretfully to Molly, leaning in for a parting embrace.

"It's just a few more weeks," Molly reassured her. "It'll be time for school again in no time, and Uncle Harry and Uncle Ron will have caught the kidnapper by the time school lets out for the summer holiday."

"Thanks," Roxanne muttered no less miserably. "I'll see you when I see you."

When she got downstairs, Percy and George were whispering conspiratorially. They stopped talking as soon as she was within hearing distance, and when they left, Percy came with them. The new protections dictated that they drive a Muggle car now, so they piled into an SUV. If it wasn't for magic, Roxanne wasn't sure how much she would have trusted her father to be driving a car. But the fact that they were wizards gave her the comforting knowledge that nothing was going to happen to her.

They parked some distance from their rented cottage like they always did, because the protective wards would not have allowed the automobile anywhere within the perimeter of their temporary home. They trudged down a long, rocky slope and through the trees and shrubbery until they could see the little house looming in the clearing before them.

Everyone noticed at the same time that something was wrong. The little black gate that marked the inner perimeter of the protection surrounding the cottage was broken. The door on the gate was hanging off its hinge. A nudge from Fred directed her gaze upward to the doorway, where she saw that there was no longer a door. Now there was only a pile of splintered wood at the top of the steps.

Gaping, she looked up at her father, who was suddenly bone white. Everything about his expression told her that there was real danger here. This was not something he'd anticipated.

"Stay here," he said quietly through a clenched jaw. He started forward, but was promptly pulled back by the arm.

"George, no," Percy hissed, as though someone might overhear. "You shouldn't go in. We should call for help, or—"

George yanked his arm out of Percy's grasp. "I need to know where my wife is," he said stonily. "Stay here with the kids, please."

"Dad?" Fred asked uncertainly.

George's eyes warmed slightly as he looked down at his son. "I'll be right back." He squeezed Fred's shoulder lightly and kissed Roxanne's forehead lightly before starting off again.

There was a long, tense silence that seemed to stretch interminably. Roxanne didn't want to disobey him, not when it seemed so important, so she planted her feet in spite of the growing feeling of dread inside her. After what seemed like forever, Fred finally voiced her own thoughts aloud.

"Maybe we should go in after him."

Percy's face tightened a little, but he rolled up the sleeves of his robes. "Yes, I think we'll have to. Get out your wands, you two."

In normal circumstances, they would have been ecstatic to be given permission to do magic. Now, however, Roxanne gritted her teeth and grasped her wand firmly before following after Percy and Fred.

They stepped over the pile of rubble that was the only remnant of the door and looked around the sitting room. It looked as though there had been some kind of struggle. Cold dread spread to Roxanne's very fingertips as she saw the shattered photographs hanging askew on the walls, the long deep cracks in the walls, and the overturned furniture scattered about the room. She grabbed Fred's arm tightly, swallowing hard.

"Mum," was all she could whisper.

Percy shot a quick glance in her direction before calling out, "George?"

There was no response. Roxanne couldn't take it. She darted forward.

"Roxanne, NO!"

She heard the yells from Percy and Fred, and felt Fred's hand swipe at the back of her shirt to hold her back, but she was already gone. She didn't care about being careful; careful was slow. She needed to know that her parents were okay. She darted into the kitchen and promptly stopped at the scene that greeted her.

A long, piercing scream tore from her lungs.

Several dishes had spilled from the china cabinet, and lay shattered on the floor. The kitchen table had collapsed and its broken halves lay in ruins. George was there. He was kneeling on the floor next to all the broken dishes and furniture, paler than Roxanne had ever seen him, and trembling from head to toe. His warm brown eyes were wide and vacant, and his mouth hung open in disbelief.

Roxanne didn't hear Percy and Fred come running to her side, wands held out to battle whatever unknown threat she was facing. She didn't hear the sharp intake of breath beside her and the clatter of a wand to the floor. She didn't see Percy dart past her and shake an uncomprehending George, didn't hear him scream his brother's name.

All she saw was the dark liquid staining the brilliant white kitchen floor, and in the midst of it, her dead mother.


	4. Chapter Three: Go

**A/N: Hey all. I'd like to take some time to thank those of you who've reviewed this story, as well as those who continue to read and review _Kiss from a Rose_. If you haven't read it, you should check it out. People seem to enjoy it, and I'm taking forever with this story. :)**

Disclaimer: I think this is the part where I don't claim ownership of J.K. Rowling's Pottery property.

**Chapter Three: Go**

Roxanne was numb with shock as she watched Percy attempt to rouse a completely unresponsive George. All she could do was stare at the pool of blood surrounding her mother, watch it seep beneath the broken furniture and ooze beneath the shattered china. Without realizing what she was doing, she dropped to her knees and crawled over to the devastating scene. She dipped a finger in the pool of crimson. It was still warm. If only they'd returned an hour earlier… perhaps if they'd never left at all…

She touched Angelina's hand. It wasn't quite ice yet. She lay down on the floor next to the lifeless body and buried her face in her mother's neck. This was right. With her eyes closed, none of what she'd just witnessed seemed real. She could still smell her mother's perfume, feel her soft hair against her face.

She hadn't noticed Percy giving up on George until there was a tug at her arm. "Roxanne, come on. We've got to get out of here quickly."

"No," she moaned. "Go away." As long as she kept her eyes closed, she could stay here in her mother's arms forever. Percy's voice was an intrusion into her imaginary peace.

"Roxanne, I'm sorry, but we have to go. The wards have collapsed because of the break-in, so anyone can gain entrance right now. This place isn't safe."

"What about my dad?" Fred asked quietly.

"I'm coming back, I swear, but you two need to get out of here now."

Roxanne felt strong hands tighten around her, and she opened an eye to find herself looking at Percy's pale, worried face. He was going to make her leave. If she left, she would never see her mother again, and her life would never be the same. So she fought Percy, but he lifted her small form with ease.

He brought her and Fred to the fireplace, just about one of the only parts of the little house that was still intact. He withdrew a small pouch from his cloak.

"Now that the wards are down, it's safe to use the Floo Network. I want you to go to the Burrow now. I'll be right behind you, I promise."

He lit a fire with his wand and sprinkled the green powder into the hearth. A gentle nudge towards the fireplace and she was forced to step into the warm emerald flames. Her throat choked up as she mumbled her destination, but it must have been enough. Moments later, she stumbled dizzily into her grandparents' kitchen.

Grandma Weasley was there when she arrived, tidying the countertops. She looked up in surprise when she heard Roxanne step into the kitchen. Her eyes widened as she took in Roxanne's bloodstained face and clothes, but she barely had time to react before Fred stepped through the grate to stand beside her. She must have looked terrible, because he drew her closer and let her press her face into his shirt.

"What on earth--?"

The flames roared again and Percy stepped out behind them.

"Percy, what—?" Grandma Weasley started to ask, but Percy quickly shushed her. He took her aside and talked to her in a hushed voice. For once, Roxanne was beyond caring what was being said. By the time they finished talking, Molly was aghast, and Percy headed straight back to the fireplace, only to vanish amidst a fresh wave of emerald flames.

She remembered her grandmother's eyes welling up with tears of pity as she ushered them to bed with steaming cups of tea. She didn't miss the apologetic grimace as she was steered into her father's old room, but neither of them mentioned it. There, she was left alone for what felt like an eternity.

She imagined everyone thought she might need some time alone, but instead she felt desperately lonely. She shuffled restlessly around her little prison, occasionally stumbling upon little artifacts from her father's past. Her favorite was the dusty photo album under her late Uncle Fred's bed. In it, she saw her father, looking the same as she had always known him—albeit with fewer lines in his face. However, even photographed, he radiated some quality she had never known. The mischievous grin on his face was a bit too carefree, his arm draped about his equally devious mirror image. They were the same two troublemakers that had been standing live before her mere weeks ago.

Something nagged at her brain as she thought this, though she couldn't figure out what. She hesitated before she turned the page of the album over. One of the twins—her father, presumably—stood with one arm wrapped with lazy affection around a tall, lean girl with glowing brown skin and a tolerant grin. Roxanne suddenly felt as though a dagger of ice had pierced her heart and slammed the book shut. She couldn't bear to look at her mother standing there looking so lighthearted, unaware that just a couple decades later that expression would be blank and still, the ghost of horror and the shock of death etched upon her features. She wished she could do something, anything, to get her back.

Roxanne didn't see her father for another two weeks. As if it wasn't bad enough to lose one parent, she lost them both at the worst time in her life. She was now locked away and forgotten in an abandoned room at the Burrow, slowly losing her mind with grief and anxiety.

As she stared blankly at her wall, these thoughts spinning around in her head, there was a light knock at the door.

"Yes?" she said breathlessly, hoping it was her father.

But a very different and unexpected figure stepped through the door, slightly taller and much thinner than the one she'd been hoping for.

"Uncle Harry," she said in surprise, sitting up in her bed.

"Mind if I sit?" he asked, gesturing towards the bed. She nodded, and he sat down next to her. "So… how are you holding up?"

Roxanne pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her head on them, purposefully looking away from him. It was a stupid question, she thought. How on earth did he think she was doing? The last thing she needed right now was another pity party. She didn't respond.

"Listen… I know how you feel," he started to say.

"No you don't," Roxanne snapped. "Everyone keeps saying that they understand, but they don't. No one does."

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I don't know how it feels to see what you saw. No one should have to see that. But I can imagine how you're feeling right now. I've been through it myself a few times. Losing a parent is just about the worst feeling there is."

"You were a baby when your parents died," Roxanne observed quietly.

Harry nodded. "After my parents were killed, I was left to live with my aunt and uncle, who cared more about their begonias than they did me. They tried to keep the truth about what I was from me, and once that truth came out, they hated me for it. But when I was around your age, I found out that my parents had appointed their best friend my godfather. He ended up being the father I never had."

He paused for a moment, lost in thought.

"So what happened?" Roxanne prompted.

"He was killed by one of Lord Voldemort's followers. I was there when it happened. In fact, I was the reason it happened."

Roxanne looked inquisitively at him. "How--?"

"It's a long story. But the point is, I still remember how it felt to watch him fall through that veil, knowing that he'd never come back. He was all I had."

"What did you do?"

"I seem to remember destroying a large chunk of Professor Dumbledore's office—he was headmaster back then. It was fine," he added, seeing the look of shock on Roxanne's face. "Turns out we had more important things to talk about."

There was a long silence in which Roxanne pondered these words. It was the first time she'd ever heard him talk about his past. She'd read about some of the broader points, of course, like his great defeat of Lord Voldemort, but even Lily had said he'd always deliberately avoided talking about it.

"How did you get over it?" she asked, failing to imagine a time when she didn't feel absolutely miserable.

"I never did, really. You never do. But life moves on, and so do you."

It wasn't quite the answer she'd wanted to hear. But she had more questions. "No one's telling me where my dad is."

Harry shifted his gaze to the window, appearing deep in thought. He didn't say anything for a long time. Finally, his brilliant green eyes locked with hers and he sighed.

"Your father's been ill, I suppose you could say. It isn't that he doesn't want to see you," he said, as though reading her mind, "but he hasn't been himself. I doubt he would want you to see him like this anyway. See, your dad had a really hard time getting over your Uncle Fred's death all those years ago. He never did get over it, but your mum was the reason he was able to get his life somewhat back to normal. So he's taking it a bit hard."

Great. So now her father was mental. She buried her face in her arms. It just couldn't get any worse. "Why would someone do this?" she whispered, bunching the cloth of her trousers tightly in her fingers to stop herself crying. "How could anyone hate her that much?"

"We'll find out who did this, Roxanne," Harry said seriously. "I promise you."

But that was little comfort as she pressed her tear-stained face against her pillow that night, with only the shadows of the night to keep her company.

***

Roxanne did get a chance to see her father before she left for school with Molly's family, but she left wishing she hadn't. She'd had the sense that he was both there and not there, and she couldn't shake the image of his blank face out of her head. She didn't think he would ever be the same again, and that was part of the reason she knew she needed to leave, even though she didn't particularly want to return to Hogwarts.

It wasn't until they were on the train back to school that she found it.

"I think we should put our robes back on," Molly said shyly.

"No!" groaned Albus, closing his eyes as though this would block out reality. "That'll mean the holiday is over. I wish it could have lasted forever." Then he opened his eyes and saw Fred and Roxanne sitting glum and stony-faced across from him and promptly flushed. "Oh… er… sorry."

Roxanne ignored this and the sympathetic looks from Molly, Lorcan, and Lysander. Instead, she rummaged in her trunk for her robes. For some reason, they'd been relegated to the very bottom of her trunk. She was forced to unpack almost the entire contents of the trunk to reach them. When she finally unearthed them, she dumped a pair in Lorcan's lap and proceeded to repack. Lorcan, meanwhile, shook out her robes.

"Just how long have these been sitting in there?" he asked, clearly a little more restrained in light of recent events.

"You dropped something," Lysander said, bending forward to pick it up. "Looks like some sort of necklace—girls?"

Roxanne twisted around out of habit. Lysander was holding a tiny, sparkling hourglass on a long golden string. Air rushed into Roxanne's lungs as she saw it, and her History of Magic textbook fell from her hands with a loud _splat_.

"Er—Roxanne?"

"THAT'S IT!" she screamed, startling everyone. She had finally understood what had been nagging at her at the Burrow.

"What's it?" asked Albus.

"Are you okay?" asked Lorcan.

"The Time-Turner!" Roxanne reached forward to snatch the object from Lysander's shocked fingers. "We can still fix this!"

There was no response. "Er—what?"

Roxanne's wide brown eyes were sparkling with excitement. "We can use the Time-Turner to go back in time and stop my mum dying! There isn't a spell that can bring someone back from the dead, but we can use _time_!"

More silence. Molly, Lorcan, Lysander, and Albus exchanged uncomfortable glances, all wondering who would be the one to break the silence.

It was Fred who did it. "Roxanne, don't."

"Why not?" Roxanne pressed. She was convinced now that this was the right idea, and she was annoyed that no one else could see that. "I _know_ you want Mum back—"

"Roxanne, it's illegal," Lorcan pointed out. "You're not even supposed to have that. You don't know what could happen—"

"You're right, maybe I don't know what could happen," Roxanne said a little heatedly. "But I do know what has happened, and nothing could be worse than that, nothing!" She wiped her face defiantly. "You don't have to go with me. I'll go myself." She started to put the gold chain around her neck, but Fred seized her wrist to stop her.

"Let's pretend this was a good idea for a moment. How on earth do you plan on finding out who killed Mum and preventing it?"

"It'll be easy. Just go back to that day, a couple hours before we got home, and watch the house. Then, as soon as the killer comes in, we attack from behind."

Fred and Albus exchanged another glance. "She's really serious," Fred muttered, rolling his eyes. "Look Roxanne, just wait a minute, will you? I know you've got this _great_ idea and you're all raring to go, but just think about it. Sleep on it or something, and if you still want to go tomorrow… I'll go with you."

Roxanne's eyes widened, her face alight. "Really?"

"Yeah."

Slowly, she lifted the necklace off again, folded it, and put it in the pocket of her robes. She kept her hand on it, feeling it warm and tingly against her palm, as though it were beckoning her. Tomorrow she would do it. No matter what everyone else said, she would do it. She would save her parents from their horrible fate.

_Roxanne pressed her face further in the soft waves of her mother's hair, inhaling the light scent of lavender that still lingered on the skin of her neck. It had seemed so real, her being gone, but now that she was back in her solid arms, it simply couldn't be an illusion. Angelina's fingers gently caressed the ebony curls that peeked out over her forehead._

"_You know," Angelina said gently, her voice rich and smooth as a song, "that's the thing I've always loved about you. Once you've got your heart set on something, there's no changing it. No matter what anyone else says, you follow what you know is right, in here." She touched Roxanne's chest lightly._

"_What if I'm wrong?" Roxanne whispered hesitantly._

_Angelina smiled. "I have faith in you."_

"_I'm scared, Mum."_

"_Of what?"_

"_I'm scared this is just a dream, and that I'll wake up and you'll be gone again. I don't want you to leave."_

_There was a soft chuckle. "Oh no, it's you who's leaving. You're going, aren't you?"_

"I don't want to…"

"Are you sure? You seemed dead set on it yesterday."

Roxanne blinked her eyes open, sitting up in her bed. Molly was already dressed and sitting on her made bed, staring at her as though expecting a response. Roxanne yawned.

"What?"

"Are you going, or not?" When Roxanne looked nonplussed, Molly rolled her eyes. "The—" she looked around as though expecting an eavesdropper—"the _Time-Turner._ Are you going to use it?"

"Oh! Yes!" She hadn't had to think about it. It felt, in fact as though she had been thinking about it unconsciously all night, and her dream had merely confirmed her subconscious decision.

"Well, let's go then. We've all been waiting while you've had a lie-in. The boys are in the common room—except for Lysander, we'll have to swing by and pick him up."

"You've lost me again."

"Oh come on, Roxanne. If there's anyone who knows you, it's us. You, changing your mind? The odds were slim to none. And after we've all had the night to think about it as well… I guess I don't think it's quite so crazy anymore."

"Excellent!" Roxanne was already out of bed, throwing her robes on and sliding on shoes. "Let's go!"

As they made their way down the staircase to the common room, Molly filled her in. "We were discussing what we might bring with us that could be helpful. Albus is going to bring the Invisibility Cloak, which could be crucial. He also says he can nick some special map thing from James that could be helpful. I also think we should bring some money, just in case. And I took some books out of the library on defensive spells, in case things go bad."

"Molly, we're not going on a two-week mission. We'll go and come right back."

"You don't know if it will be that easy, Roxanne, we've never—"

"I've done it before, remember? If things get bad, all we've got to do is whip out the Time-Turner and come right back before anything happens. It's that simple."

The boys were in the common room, just as Molly had said. They looked up when they saw Roxanne and Molly approaching and stood up. Fred clapped his hands.

"Let's get this show on the road then, shall we?"

Once they'd gotten Lysander in the Great Hall, they chose an abandoned corridor to huddle in. Roxanne examined the Time-Turner carefully, realizing that she really had no idea how to use it. She was scared to say so, lest everyone change their mind about accompanying her.

"Okay, everyone get in, then," she said, beckoning everyone closer. She helped drape the chain around everyone's neck. She clearly envisioned a time three hours before their return home that fateful day and shifted the hourglass slowly in her hands.

The dank smell and stone walls of the castle fell slowly away, giving way to smooth cream and the familiar scent of home. Ecstatic at having gotten it right, Roxanne ducked beneath the chain to catapult herself onto her bed. It felt so good to be in it again, surrounded by all the comforts of home.

"Shh!" Lysander warned, tugging at her arm. "Roxanne, we've got to be really careful. If your mother hears and comes in…"

Roxanne's face lit up. Her mother was here, right now. She started for the door but was pulled back by Lorcan.

"_Be careful_," he reiterated.

"You lot should stay in here," Fred suggested, "and Roxanne and I will use the cloak and see what happens. You should be able to hear everything, and if something goes wrong, we'll come back."

They all agreed reluctantly, and after more cautions, Fred and Roxanne disappeared under the cloak and tiptoed into the sitting room. Roxanne's breath caught in her throat as she saw Angelina sitting peacefully on the sofa, humming softly as she read the _Prophet_. Fred pulled her against the wall, but she could see the same longing that she felt in the hard lines of his face.

They waited and watched for a long time. Angelina made herself some tea, tidied the sitting room, and mailed a letter. She was just sitting down with a magazine when someone knocked on the door.

Her reaction would have seemed strange any other place but here. She looked startled and waited, alert, to see if she might have imagined the noise. The knock came again, and she stood, dropping the book and reaching for her wand on the table beside her.

"G-George?" she said cautiously, though it was clear she didn't believe it was her husband. She clutched her wand, slowly making her way towards the door.

The knock came again, harder and more insistent this time. And this time, a voice accompanied it. "Open the door, goddamn it, Johnson. I know you're in there alone. Open it now or I'll blow it to bits."

The look of shock and astonishment on Angelina's face was unprecedented. She made no move towards the door, merely held her wand aloft, her face set.

Then, as promised, the door exploded. In all the commotion Angelina knelt low and aimed a spell at the intruder, who dissolved it immediately with a flick of his wand. He followed it with an attacking spell so quickly that Roxanne missed it until her mother hit the ground and screamed.

"_Expelliarmus_," he muttered lazily, catching Angelina's wand in his other hand.

"What are you doing here?" Angelina demanded breathlessly.

"You're a smart woman," the strange man said with a grin. "You tell me."

Angelina scowled. "I know why you're here." The look on her face let Roxanne know that the reason was not a welcome one. "I meant how did you get in?"

A sinister chuckle accompanied the dirty grin this time. "Wouldn't you like to know? Let's just say that I've been watching you very, _very_ carefully."

This sent a cold chill down Roxanne's spine.

"If you _dare_ hurt my family—"

"You'll what? Right now you're unarmed and at my mercy. I could make _you_ hurt your family if I wanted to. But no matter. I've no interest in your chump husband or the brats. Otherwise, why would I have waited until they left to come for you?"

The strange man took a seat on the arm of the sofa, looking down contemplatively at Angelina, who promptly stood. "I assume you got my letters."

Angelina nodded grudgingly.

"And your answer?"

"No, of course. The answer will always be no." And with that, she punched him hard in the face, sending him crashing down onto the sofa, and wrenched her wand out of his hand. His own wand was crushed beneath him, out of her reach. But she had just lifted her wand to disarm him before his own wand was in his hand again and he'd fired off another curse. Angelina ducked and shot another spell of her own, which veered sideways and glanced off the wall.

Fred pulled Roxanne quickly out of the way of the fight that ensued. He clapped a hand over her mouth every time she screamed, but the loud cracks of missed spells and breaking furniture drowned her out anyway. Angelina was a good fighter, but the stranger was just too fast and too experienced. He managed to disarm her yet again, and when she started to run Roxanne knew the fight was over.

Tears poured down her eyes as she watched the final moments of her mother's life. She was cornered and wandless in the kitchen. Dishes fell and crashed down all around her as she dodged curses. She managed to climb the china cabinet, but the stranger struck it down with a spell, and the entire glass cabinet crashed down on top of her.

"Tired of running yet, Angie?" taunted the stranger, as Angelina emerged, bleeding copiously, from the pile of broken glass.

"This can't just be about revenge, Montague," Angelina panted. Her voice was barely louder than a whisper, and blood trickled down from her lips. "You can't still hold a grudge about something that happened when we were in school. For Merlin's sake, we were seventeen!" Her face slackened. "I have my life now, and you have yours. Just _let it go_, and we can both get back to that…"

Montague smiled. "Don't you wish it were that easy?" He aimed his wand at her. "You made your decision, Johnson… or _Weasley_, I should say… and I've made mine."

Angelina did not scream. She did not cry, or beg for her life. When Montague killed her, she died with all the peaceful grace she'd had in life. Long after Montague had Disapparated, Fred and Roxanne stood in silence, simply watching the last signs of life drain from her body.

Some time later, they returned to Roxanne's room, where the others were sitting and waiting. Molly looked up at them as they took the cloak off, her eyes filled with tears.

"We heard everything," she said softly. "I'm sorry."

Roxanne let out a shaky breath. "It was terrible, but I think it was easier… being prepared."

"So what do we do?" asked Lorcan.

"Well… we know a little bit more than we did before. Like… who killed her, for instance. She called him Montague, I think. They knew each other from school apparently… and something happened when they were seventeen that made him hold a grudge. He killed her for revenge."

"So maybe…" Albus said slowly, "maybe if we go back and prevent whatever happened that made him hold a grudge, then he'll never want revenge and your mother will be safe."

"Albus, you're a genius! That's exactly what we'll do!"

"How on earth are we supposed to find out what happened, though?" asked Lysander. "It could have been anything that happened at any point during their seventh year of school."

"Well, it would have had to be something pretty big to make Montague hold a grudge that long. All we'll have to do is find him and keep an eye on him until something happens."

"But that could take all year!" Albus pointed out. "And if we miss it…"

"Look, I don't care how long it takes," Roxanne said adamantly. "I'm going to save my mother. You don't have to come along if you don't want to, but if there's a way I can fix what happened, I'm going to do it. Even if I have to do it alone."

"Not this again," Fred groaned. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but for just once could you _think_ about what you're saying? We're not going to all fit under the Invisibility Cloak… people are going to know we don't belong."

"How? You don't know everyone in your year. I certainly don't know everyone in mine."

"No, but I know everyone in Gryffindor."

"So we're not Gryffindor, then. We'll keep an eye on them from somewhere else."

No one spoke. It was partly because after what they had all just witnessed, they were hesitant to disappoint her with the bitter reality. It was also because they were still astonished that such a ludicrous idea could have even occurred to her.

Roxanne grasped the Time-Turner in her pocket. It was warm and tingly again, as if it knew she was thinking of using it again. She pulled it out of her pocket to contemplate it.

"Look!" Lorcan gasped.

The Time-Turner was glowing a deep yellow in Roxanne's palm.

"I didn't know it could do that," said Albus, awed. "What's it mean?"

"It means… we should do it," Roxanne said, though she didn't know whether this was actually true or not.

"Okay… before we go off on another adventure, let's go back," Molly said. "We need to prepare for this. For one thing, we're going to have to know what was going on at that time period. And we'll need a change of clothes."

"Fine," Roxanne consented. She lifted the Time-Turner's golden chain and they all gathered beneath it for a second time. As she envisioned the corridor they'd left from seconds after their departure, she noticed that the little hourglass was now cold and still in her hand.

**BTW: they weren't in love. just in case you were wondering.**


End file.
